


Symposium

by querencia



Series: he turns me to gold in the sunlight [3]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Riding, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/querencia/pseuds/querencia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RigorMorton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RigorMorton/gifts).



> A backstory to how Joker's Duchess became his Duchess! If you're not into the backstory, all the smutty goodness is in the final chapter so never fear!  
> tw: Mentions of BPD (Boarderline Personality Disorder)

You were on the cover of every newspaper in the Western World for weeks. Every news station was talking about the same thing:

'Midway City's Ballet's Primadonna **KIDNAPPED** '

'Ballerina struggles for life in Underground Crime gang'

'Sources say that infamous Gotham crime Lord known only as the Joker, and Y/N Y/L/N exchanged love letters before her kidnapping in August of last year.'

Kidnapping was such an _unsavoury word_ for it, and you didn't like it. Mister J was your Prince, and you were his Duchess!

 

And after all, how does any prince meet his princess?

 

He rescues her.

 

* * *

 

Your father called it a 'delicate personality'. The bullies at school called it 'crazy'. The doctors called it 'Borderline personality disorder'.

Mister J called it 'beautiful'.

It wasn't Papa's fault that the payments were overdue. Since your Mother passed, things had been difficult for the business, and for him. The only problem was, was if things were difficult for him, they were difficult for Mister J, and that just wouldn't do.

He was at your house that day. Just appearing in your life as though it was the most simple thing in all the world. Like he was meant to be there. Perhaps that was why your father always went to such great lengths to keep you apart, because the day you came down the stairs, looking into the room just opposite the staircase where Papa held his meetings, your eyes met his and your world changed. Your fingers clasped around the banister, pulsing to the tune of a rhythm only you could hear; your [silk nightie](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/20/84/e8/2084e8f062e65807594c8b4f1b2b49d7.jpg) fluttering gently about your body; your honey blonde curls framing your pretty cheekbones, you looked like a painting to him. A work of exquisite artwork, and Mister J stopped midway through his sentence. He stood up, eyes completely fixed upon you, and your father swallowed thickly.

"Who is this angel you've been hidin' from me Mr Y/L/N?" Joker had asked, his tone just shy of dangerous as he tilted his head slightly to the side. His eyes widened a little as you and he gazed at each other.

You couldn't explain it, but you just couldn't look away. It was like watching a car crash. You were entranced, rooted to the spot on the final step of the staircase. Joker beckoned towards you with one hand, not breaking his gaze, and you went to him without even thinking as though he'd cast a spell on you. His palm cupped your jaw and you were struck by how cold his hands were.

Cold hands, warm heart. That's what your mother always said.

"This is my daughter, Y/N." Your father said somewhat anxiously. He went to stand up but the Joker held up a hand without tearing his eyes off you, and his henchmen shoved your father back down into his chair warningly.

"Y/N..." Joker mused, drawing out the word as though tasting it on his lips like the most exquisite of flavours. You instinctively leaned in closer to him, like he was hypnotising you with those eyes of his. They were bottomless pits of ocean blue, and you only realised how close you were when you felt his breath inches from your lips.

And then he was gone.

"Mr Y/L/N." He stated, going straight back into his usual business tone. He braced his hands on the table, eyeing your father dangerously. His tone was almost sing-songy, but his body language was predatorial.

"If my payments are not met by the end of the month, I am afraid I shall become very, _very_ angry." He continued in a sickly sweet voice. "And you wouldn't want that, would you Mr Y/L/N?"

Your father shook his head, terrified.

"N-no, Mister J. I-I promise, I'll get the money."

Mister J smiled darkly form ear to ear, all red lipstick and silver teeth which lined his gums like bullets. And then he turned, stalking away with his henchmen in pursuit. He stopped when he passed you. You were still standing in the corner, gazing at this man who had just turned your world upside down. For a second he looked at you and his smile widened even further. He took your hand in his and brought your knuckles to his lips. He kissed you, and left a smudge of red lipstick there. And then he was gone.

That smudge became your anchor, as Mister J became your obsession. You would not wash it off. You would clean around it, but never over it. You spent whole hours just staring at it; lying on your bed with your hand stretched above you as you gazed at it. Sometimes you could still feel his lips on your skin, if you really concentrated.

He began to write to you. Letters with black envelopes. Some were poems, some were sonnets. Some he wrote, and some he recited to you. They would appear on your windowsill whenever you woke up, and you quickly realised that if you wrote your replies, placed them in the same black envelope, and left it upon your windowsill where you'd found it, they would be replaced the next morning by his reply. He was like your tooth fairy, and every morning you ran to your window to see what he had left you. He signed each letter with only _'Joker'_ and a red print of his lips from where he had kissed the paper. You pressed that paper to your own lips, and you cried.

His words flooded your senses like a tidal wave that hit you all at once and knocked you clean off your feet until you were drowning in him. You drew pictures of him, of how you remembered him that day. Some were of him. Some were of his tattoos which you could remember so vividly upon your memory. Some of his smile and the red lipstick he had left on your skin and on the letters he sent you.

_Joker..._

The word that was a nightmare to many became your dream. You would murmur it under your breath. You heard it in the melody of every symphony that you danced to. You heard it when you held your breath, or submerged your head under the water of your bathtub. You heard it before you went to sleep and you heard it when you woke up.

_**Joker. Joker. Joker. Joker.** _

You painted it on your wall. Over and over until the once white walls were nearly black. Big writing. Little writing. Upside down. It was compulsive. The next morning there was three black envelopes on your windowsill and over the top of your painted symphony of his name, was written in red spray paint:

_**Duchess.** _

The first letter was a poem called 'My Last Duchess'.

_"That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,_  
_Looking as if she were alive. I call_  
_That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands_  
_Worked busily a day, and there she stands._  
_She had_  
_A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,_  
_Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er_  
_She looked on, and her looks went everywhere."_

The second letter was a teaching by Aristophantes. Of how according to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.

_"And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether she be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment."_

At the bottom of the letter it said.

_'I'VE FOUND YOU.'_

The third letter simply read in a scrawl of red which filled the page:

_**'YOU'RE IN MY VEINS'** _


	2. Chapter 2

Papa, poor Papa, how could he have got all that money by the end of the month? With his only daughter locked up in her room like a sepulchre, doomed never to emerge. Sometimes he heard you singing. Sometimes crying. Sometimes laughing manically. Sometimes the sound of your pointe shoes on the hardwood floor as you practised your ballet to the echoing symphonies of Tchaikovsky.

None of that scared him. He'd heard your madness, and he had heard it before. Not just in you, but in your mother. What scared him down to his very bones, was hearing that one word upon your lips. Sometimes it was a song; a cry; a plea; a gasp but it was always the same:

_**'Joker'** _

Mister J sent your dear Papa a message through one of his henchmen. He was to go to your ballet performance on Friday night in the box overlooking centre stage - The best seats in the house. There he would meet him, 'to settle business'.

You were a ballerina, you see. Best in the country. Something about ballet made you go to another universe. Everything else faded away. None of it mattered any more. It was like going to sleep and when you woke up you remembered every second of the dream as vivid as day.

When you came out of your room, a month after your first encounter with the Joker, you did not say a word to your father. Or to anybody in fact. You simply gathered up all of your beloved letters and put them in your special bag, including the one you'd received the night before which simply read:

_'Break a leg, my Duchess. I will be coming for you.'_

Perhaps your father knew this was the last time he would ever see you, because when the chauffeur brought the car around, he tried to get through to you. Said kind things. Things that once made you giggle and squeal and tell him he was the best Papa in all the world. Now you just stared out of the window, drawing pictures in the condensation on the window as though he was not even there.

And perhaps, to you, he wasn't.

Poor, poor Papa. it wasn't his fault that you were no longer his.

 

All of Midway City came out that night to watch you. People paid three figures to see the incredible Y/N Y/L/N do what she did best.

In your dressing room was a bouquet of black roses with a card attached which simply said: _'Soon. J. xx'_ The roses smelt like chemicals from the black paint, and you giggled dizzily at the scent which made your head feel a little bit detached from your body.

The rest of the night felt a bit like falling in and out of consciousness. Or at least, that's what the witnesses would later tell the police. One second you were giggling happily in your dressing room, your fingers gently plucking the petals from the roses and watching them flutter to the floor like snowflakes. The next you were in a room full of people that you didn't remember letting in. There were make-up artists and people [dressing you](http://www.thelowry.com/Images/Brochure41/Swan_Lake_main.jpg) and your heart hammered in your chest as you looked around, utterly confused. And then you were in the wings on the stage. Alone again. The curtain hadn't gone up yet. You felt like you were teleportation from one place to the next. You could hear Joker's words echoing in your head the way voices echo off the side of mountains, ringing in your head like a cymbal.

_'Soon... soon... soon...'_

The music began to play. You grinned. And then you were lost in your own trance once more.

You didn't hear the gunshot which killed your father, nor the chaos which ensued when everyone else in the theatre did. All the other dancers around you disappeared, screaming and running wherever they could. Someone tried to drag you with them, but you pushed them away with a cry.

"No! My puddin' is coming to get me!" You shouted at them.

You laughed amid the sound of machine guns, and simply carried on dancing. Up on your pointe shoes you pirouetted and twirled and _waited._ When you had finished your finale, there was silence and then clapping. A single solitary clapping from behind you.

A grin spread across your face and your heart fluttered in your chest.

"Magnificent!" A voice declared. "Beautiful! Encore!"

A voice you'd longed for for week after week, day after day.

"Mister J?" You asked hopefully, not turning around. You squeezed your eyes shut and crossed your fingers and did a pretty pretty pretty please to God and whoever else was listening.

"I told'ya I'd be coming for ya, didn't I?" He replied, a low chuckle. You could almost see his grin just from the tone of his voice.

"Is this a dream?" You asked breathily, opening your eyes but still not turning around.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." He replied in a low voice, quoting one of the many poems he had sent you in his beautiful letters.

He laughed.

A beautiful echoing sound which bounced off the empty wings of the stage. Your face broke out into the widest grin and you turned, running to him with wings on your heels. He caught you. Of course he did. You grabbed his face and kissed him like Juliet kissed Romeo in the tomb. And he kissed you, and he kissed you like he'd wanted to all his life. This was your first kiss. Your first love. The only man you needed. He was intoxicating - Like the most beautiful disease that had eaten his way into your heart, festered there, and spread. Into your veins, into your blood, into every fibre of your being.

"Mister J?" You said a little shakily as your pulled away, breathless from his lips on yours. "I think you might have made me fall in love with you."

It was something in your voice. That breathy innocence that your mental state had preserved in you through your child-like mannerisms and voice. He wanted to protect you. Bundle you up and take you far away, where you would be his and only his. Where you would be his Queen, his Duchess, his everything. He was the Clown Prince of Gotham: He cared for nobody but himself. He was a psychopath. A criminal. A legend. But you were his weakness. The other half to his soul that Aristophantes wrote of.

His Duchess.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be the smut! Inspired by my very favourite scene from Suicide Squad and, as always, the incredible RigorMorton!

Some say that Y/N Y/L/N vanished. Some say she was killed in the massacre of one hundred and fifty people in Midway City Theatre that night in late August. The police would find her bedroom: The walls sprawled with the name of a criminal who wrought fear into the hearts of many.

Some said she killed herself: Jumped from the roof of the theatre in a fit of the same madness which had killed her mother in the same manner.

Some says she was saved by the Bat, and now living out the rest of her days in Arkham Asylum.

Each and every theory could only make you laugh.

Your father used to call it a 'delicate personality'. The bullies at school called it 'crazy'. The doctors called it 'Borderline personality disorder'.

Mister J called you his Queen, and that you were.

Together you became the King and Queen of Gotham City, and God help anyone who disrespected the Queen. You'd tasted real love, and it was like licking a ten volt battery. You held the heart of the King of Gotham city, and every day you had the very essence of life handed to you on a plate.

 

You are in one of his clubs, of course, and you are more than thoroughly enjoying yourself. Papa never used to let you drink, but Mister J does! He let's you get up and dance in a special pretty cage for all his friends - And you know how much he loves to watch you dance! You had been dancing in the very centre of the club when Mister J whistled for you to come to him.

He was with a business associate of his. A man with gold piercings, dark skin, a red beard, and lots of tattoos. You remembered this man! He was called Monster T.

"You're a lucky man." He had told Joker. "Got a bad bitch."

Joker's eyes were wide as he stood, nodding as he extended an arm to point in your direction but not turning away from the man before him.

"Oh, that she is. The fire in my loins. The itch in my crotch. The one, the only, the infamous Y/N Y/L/N!"

He whistled for you, and you heard him above the music. Blowing kisses to your adoring crowd of watchers, you hopped down from your little stage at the centre of the club and dashed over to the booth where Mister J was entertaining his client.

"Ooh, come to daddy." He grins as you run over.

"Puddin!" You beam, giggling as Joker pulls you over the edge of the booth and down into the seat beside him.

"Are you enjoyiiiing yourself, Duchess?" Joker asks you, an arm around your shoulders as he draws out the word with a grin.

"Yes daddy!" You giggle happily. Mister J guides a drink into your hands. A pink concoction of vodka and something with strawberries and you take a sip of it through a purple curly straw, grinning happily like a little girl sipping a chocolate milkshake.

"Listen, you are my gift to this handsome _honka honka!_ Youuuu belong to him now." Joker grinned manically, watching as you bit your lip and giggled, sitting yourself in Monster T's lap.

"Ooh, you're cute!" You giggled, pressing your forehead to his. "You want me? I'm all yours."

Of course you weren't. This was a test. It wouldn't be the first time that Joker tested out his allies respect for him by using you as bait. In fairness to this guy, he seemed to get the hint that reciprocating any of your advances would not end well for him.

"I don't want no beef." He said, looking past you to Joker, who was watching the two of you with great interest. An arousal which came from somebody touching his Duchess who wasn't him, and knowing what that person's fate would be at his hands.

"You don't want no beef?" The Joker echoed jokingly, grinning and gesturing wildly with his hands. He threw his head back and cackled. "Don't want no beef? Don't want no beef?"

At the same time, your face fell and your eyes went all big like a kicked puppy.

"What's wrong?" You asked softly. "You... You don't like me?"

You sniffled and got up, looking up at Mister J with big sad eyes and your lower lip trebling. _EVERYONE_ liked you! Why was this guy being such a big meanie?

_'Delicate personality'_

You never took rejection well.

You sat down dejectedly in the plush seat of the booth, arms folded and lip wobbling like a child who had had her toy taken away. Mister J bent down so he was at eye level with you and gently put a finger to your cheek, catching one of your tears as it rolled down your cheek; taking some of your mascara with it. He tsked softly, mouthing affectionately at your jaw before turning back to Monster T who spread his open palms in a show of respect.

"This your lady." He said simply.

"You don't _LIKE_ my Duchess?" Joker asked, his voice dropping to a soft octave which was somehow even more terrifying than his maniacal shouting.

"No. That's your lady, Joker." Monster T repeated, and Joker nodded, his grin spreading.

"That's right!" He declared. "And now her feelings are all hurt!"

Your head snapped up and you tried to muffle your giggle behind your manicured hand. You bobbed up and down a little in your seat as you saw the way that Mister J's face darkened and he reached for a revolver that he kept in his belt.

"Yo, J-"

_**BANG.** _

You squealed in excitement; clapping your hands together and kicking your legs. Joker watched the blood drip down the walls of the booth for a second before turning back to you. He gathered you up into his arms and dragged you onto his lap to prise your lips open with his. You ran your tongue over the metallic tang of his silver teeth and gasped into his mouth as two hands came down sharply on your ass through the thin fabric of your very short dress.

All he had to do was snap his fingers in the direction of his henchmen who surrounded the perimeter of the booth, and they were gone. The music of the club was pounding far below you, and in this golden booth you were concealed from the outside world entirely. Joker's finger crept up your thigh slowly, pulling your panties to to the side and dipping his fingers into the wetness he found there.

"Oh-ho-ho!" He laughed, eyebrows raised and his signature grin spreading across his red lips. "Look at _this!"_

He removed his fingers and held them up between your faces. His digits were slick with your juices, and he rolled the wetness between his thumb and middle finger, watching as it began to drip slowly down his fingers like sap on a tree.

"I do believe my Duchess gets a _**KICK**_ out of the smell of _gunpowder!"_ On the word 'kick' Joker forced your legs wide apart by splaying his own knees outwards. He reached behind you, to the revolver which he had tossed aside on the table and held it in his damp fingers, finger on the trigger and watching with a growl as you ran your tongue along the barrel of the gun, still warm from the shot that had killed poor old Monster T.

"Heheheheeee!" Joker chuckled lowly, his face inches from yours as he turned the revolver slowly on you. He pressed it into your forehead, and you simply let your head fall back as he dragged the muzzle down your nose, over your lips, your teeth, your chin, then your neck. You could feel the sensation of the metal pushing against your throat when you swallowed, and a burst of giggles fell from your lips which Joker reciprocated as he cocked the gun against your neck.

"She loves me..." He uncocked it again. "She loves me not... She loves meeee... She loves me not..."

It was difficult to describe how the sensation of a gun being cocked and uncocked against your throat could be so arousing, but your hands were gripping Mister J's shoulders simply to keep you upright as your eyes fluttered shut. You could feel his crotch stiffening beneath the gusset of your panties and your breath caught in your throat.

"One little trigger... That's aaaaall it would take." Joker sang beneath you. "To kill you..." He cocked the gun again against your throat.

"Me..." He put the revolver to his temple, eyes boring into you with dark lust-blown pupils as he wet his lips. Silent and utterly still for a second and then grabbing a fistful of your hair to press your temple to his.

"Or both of us!" He hissed. "One bullet and we'd be stone cold dead."

"But then who would help you out with that hard-on you got right now, Mister J?" You whispered in his ear.

Joker drew back, mouth agape as he released his grip on your hair and removed the gun from his temple.

"My, _my_ Duchess!" He gasped, his open mouth spreading up into a wicked grin as he shook his head slowly.

"Such a dirty,  _dirty_ mouth on you..." He said, tracing the muzzle of the revolver over your pretty mouth, dragging down your bottom lip for a second before letting it go. Your lipstick was all over the tip of the revolver and you wiped it off by slowly bringing your mouth down to the gun and parting your lips. Joker's eyes widened when he realised your intention, and your hand enclosed over his as you took the tip of the gun into your mouth and enclosed your lips around the muzzle.

  
Joker watched you, entranced, as your mouth went up and down the barrel of his gun. You could feel his cock twitching beneath you in the confines of his dress trousers, and your eyes never left his as you took the stiff metal all the way down to the back of your throat. Watching your eyes flutter shut as you gagged silently around the barrel of the gun was the last straw for Mister J. He threw it aside with a clatter and forced your lips down onto his bruisingly. His tongue attacked your mouth as though he was trying to eat you alive, and his hands went to your hips. If you were any closer you would have been absorbed into his body, and you only pulled back from his damaging kiss when you nearly forgot to breathe.

"Ohh... Look at the _mess_  my Duchess has made..." Joker drawled, drawing back with smudged lips to gesture to his crotch. Sure enough, his lap was glistening with your juices from how you had straddled his lap and dripped down onto the fabric of his trousers. That combined with the wet patch from his leaking cock, he certainly was a mess indeed, and you were not much better.

His grin turned into a snarl and in a rough motion he had tugged his trousers down only as far as he had to in order to pull his cock free from it's confines. The head was swollen and leaking beads of white pre-cum in twitches. Your mouth literally watered at the sight. Mister J was not a patient man at the best of times, let alone after you had brought him to such a state. Your panties were simply shoved out of the way and your skirt pushed up to your waist as Joker grabbed you by the hips and brought you slamming down on his cock in one motion. You fell forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders with a shuddering gasp.

"Fuck! Your tight little _CUNT!"_ Joker snarled against your ear as you slowly ground your hips backwards on his dick. You were still adjusting to the dizzying pleasure of it which rendered you nearly immobile, but you soon got into the swing of it.

"That's it Duchess." Joker hissed. "Ride my cock like the good little slut you are."

"Oh God, Mister J..." You breathed. "It's so good."

The sound of your hips snapping up and down against his clothed crotch was mostly drowned out by the pounding music which still blared on from the club below you, but Mister J's filthy words of praise were not.

"That good? You like it when I fuck you like this, hmm Duchess? Anyone could walk in here at any second and see you riding my cock like the filthy little bitch that you are. Do you like that baby? Tell me how much you like it."

 _"Fuck!"_ You cried out as Mister J angled his hips in just the right place to hit that spot on your inner walls which made you see stars. Your nails were digging into the fabric of his jacket as you used his shoulders for leverage to fuck yourself back onto his cock.

"I love it daddy! I love it so much!" You sobbed and Joker snarled approvingly at your obedience, watching you as you picked up the pace of your thrusts; desperately chasing your own release.

"Do you want to come like this sweetheart?" He crooned. "Come on my lap, right here, right now?"

"Yes Daddy! Oh please let me come! I wanna make you feel good!"

That title was always guaranteed to turn Mister J on to the point of near dysfunction. All he had to do was snake his hand between your writhing bodies to pinch your clit between his thumb and forefinger and roll it between his fingers with the command of:

"Do it Princess. Milk Daddy's cock. Fuckin' come for me! Scream my name when you come, let everyone in here know who makes you come like this!"

 _ **"Joker!"**_ You screamed, feeling your thighs convulse as your orgasm tore through you like a freight train. Deep within you, you felt Mister J's cock spasm and release the hot splatter of his release once twice, three times as his hands gripped hard enough at your hips that you knew there would be bruises in the morning. You couldn't even move. Every inch of your body seemed to have turned to jelly and you fell forward against Mister J's chest. That strawberry vodka from earlier was catching up with you, and you were feeling the wooziness of it in the aftermath of your orgasm,

Joker just hummed appreciatively, low in his chest, as he stood up carefully, bringing you with him as he set you down on wobbly feet. He tucked his softening cock back into his trousers and chuckled darkly when he saw the mixture of his come and your juices running slowly down the inside of your thigh. He tugged your skirt down, threw an arm around your shoulder and called out to one of his henchmen as he descended the steps into the club:

"Robert! Bring the car around!"

The crowd parted before the two of you like the Red Sea, and your head lolled onto his shoulder with a slow lazy giggle.

"I'm taking my Duchess home for the night."


End file.
